


The Name He Never Saved

by mycitruspocket



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Dancing, Fix-It, Friendship, Hugs, M/M, Paternal Lestrade, The Sign of Three, papa lestrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-30
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2018-02-06 20:33:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1871508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mycitruspocket/pseuds/mycitruspocket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"The relief was so intense, Lestrade had problems breathing properly. But it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that Sherlock had come home, that he was holding him close and that he was able to protect him again. Hang on a minute, what did he just call him? Ah sod it, not important, not now."</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Name He Never Saved

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Birthday Rupert Graves, thank you for the never-ending inspiration!
> 
> Hugs for my lovely beta Erasmus_Jones!

** **

 

 

 **Graham** **:** From a Scottish surname, originally derived from the English place name Grantham, which probably meant "gravelly homestead" in Old English.

_“You are my rock. I’m coming home to you.”_

The relief was so intense, Lestrade had problems breathing properly. But it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that Sherlock had come home, that he was holding him close and that he was able to protect him again. Hang on a minute, what did he just call him? Ah sod it, not important, not now.

 

*

 

 **Gabriel:**  From the Hebrew name Gavri'el meaning "strong man of God". In Abrahamic religions Gabriel was one of the seven archangels in Hebrew tradition, who typically serves as a messenger sent from God.

_“You are my guardian angel. That’s why I call for you.”_

All Lestrade could do was stand and stare, speechless for a moment as Sherlock stared right back, confusion written all over his face. Not a mask or an act; this was real. The bastard had no idea what he’d put Lestrade through in the past 15 minutes and sat still on his chair by the window, blinking bewildered while his curls danced in the wind caused by the helicopter hovering low over Baker Street. Even so, since Sherlock had come home, he’d found it really hard to be mad at him, even now.

Lestrade made a quick call to cancel everything he'd scrambled since he’d received Sherlock’s call for help as Sherlock watched him, the look on his face now nearly apologetic as the range of consequences caused by his texts dawned to him. Putting the phone back into his pocket Lestrade took a deep breath, he would deal with the mess he had caused later. Sherlock needed his help after all, even if he wasn’t currently bleeding to death like in his worst nightmares.

“Next time, just think it over for a second before you text me stuff like that, right? That’s all I’m asking.”

“I’ll try - Gabriel.”

“Wow, that’s actually the most flattering variation of my name so far, but it’s still not mine. Listen, if you really need my help with this, keeping up this bloody game is not a very good start.”

“It’s not a game.”

“I know, it’s just… Let’s just leave that alone for now, OK? Let me see what you’ve got so far.”

Sliding his hand over his short hair he walked over to the desk and peeking over Sherlock’s shoulder he read the first lines of the best man speech that Sherlock had already written.

“Oh fuck. That’s going to be a lot of work…”

Lestrade removed his coat, threw it on the sofa and dragged the other chair close to Sherlock’s. Rubbing his hands together eagerly he sat down, this was sure as hell going to distract him from the bloody Waters Gang, the unavoidable talk with his superior and The Case of Sherlock Holmes and the Name He Never Saved, at least for a little while.

 

_*_

 

 **Geoff** **:** Short form of Geoffrey, a Norman French form of a Germanic name. The second element is Germanic frid "peace", the first element may be either gawia "territory", walah "stranger" or gisil "hostage".

_“I know you will bring peace. That’s why I need you to help me.”_

 

Pah, Goeff! Did he really look like a Geoff? No, he most certainly did not look like a Geoff, thank you very much. Lestrade hurried towards the loos just as ordered, pushing open the door angrily he checked the stalls and found them all empty. There was no window where the suspect, whoever it was, might have escaped through and also no signs of someone hiding in there for a while.

Taking a moment to calm down he splashed cold water into his face. He knew that Sherlock didn’t call him by wrong names just to hurt him, maybe to annoy him, but it’s been a while since Sherlock came back and he just missed hearing him say his real name. Not even the first one, his last would be just as fine. For nearly a decade Sherlock had called him Lestrade, and he had no idea what had caused his sudden change of mind. Was it one of his attempts trying to be funny? Or did he want to adopt one of John’s social skills and just failed? However, there was a murderer to catch; there would be time to solve the other mystery later, after a few more glasses of wine.

Well, that must have been at least one glass too many. He had just closed his eyes for a moment but looking around the dance floor now, Lestrade couldn’t make out Sherlock anywhere. Everybody was dancing except the man who had been looking forward to this part of the wedding so eagerly. During the wedding planning Sherlock had mentioned the dancing quite often, always with an excited gleam in his eyes that made him look like he was about 5 years old. Lestrade had even thought about asking him for a dance because he wasn’t so sure there would ever be another chance to dance with Sherlock Holmes. But now he was gone, nowhere to be seen, and Lestrade made his way through the crowd towards Molly, who appeared to be trying very hard to look like she was having a great time dancing with her Tom. She smiled at Lestrade as he came closer and danced along as he leaned in so he didn’t have to shout over the music.

“Have you seen him?”

“Yes. I’m… I’m sorry but I think he might have gone home already.”

“But why?”

“I think it was all a bit too much for him in the end. But I don’t know, really. Maybe he was just tired?”

“Tired? Sherlock? I’ll go after him, you try and have some real fun, ok?”

With a short nod at Tom he pushed his half full wine glass into Molly’s hands and she gulped down the rest of his drink instantly, looking a bit trapped as he stormed passed her and through the door. Running out into the cool evening air hoping to find a cab somewhere, he tried to get Sherlock on the phone several times, but he got no answer.

 

*

 

 **Greg** **:** Short form of Gregory, the English form of Latin Gregorius, which was from the Late Greek Gregorios, derived "gregoros" and meaning "watchful, alert".

_“You are my watchful angel who brings me peace. That’s why I will always come home to you.”_

When he finally arrived at Baker Street, the windows were dark. Lestrade didn’t even bother with the doorbell since it had been living in the fridge for quite some time. Mrs. Hudson had given him a key for this kind of occasion because she believed that Lestrade would probably just kick in the door one day, and she made very clear how fond she was of said door.

Shutting the door silently behind him, Lestrade climbed up the stairs carefully. In case Sherlock was actually sleeping he didn’t want to disturb him. Walking over the threshold he peeked into the dim room that was only sparsely lit by the street lamps. Lestrade checked the sofa first, but when he found it empty his eyes travelled over to the chair near the fireplace where he could make out a familiar looking form. Sherlock sat there in one of his usual poses; with his feet pulled up he hugged his knees and stared in the direction of the kitchen. He had changed his wedding attire for his usual dark trousers and shirt and didn’t seem to notice the intrusion.

“Hey, Sherlock? I um… I just wanted to check on you before I go home myself. You alright?”

Sherlock turned his head to look at him for a moment before he answered, and Lestrade let him deduce everything he needed to know.

“You worry too much.”

“Of course I bloody worry too much. You died, remember?”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes while he continued to stare at him intently.

“But  _you_  never believed that.”

“No I didn’t, not really. But I lost you, and I’m going to do anything in my power not to lose you again.”

Sherlock smiled one of his half-smiles, the ones that meant he was proud and Lestrade couldn’t help but walk closer. This little smirk always filled him with energy, made him feel alive, and it also pulled him in like a magnet. Even after knowing him for so long, being the centre of Sherlock’s attention was still incredibly exhilarating.

Lestrade stopped in front of the chair and reached out to stroke an errant curl from Sherlock’s forehead. He did that occasionally, when it felt like Sherlock needed a gentle gesture like that. Sherlock always let him, he even leant into the touch like a shy cat, not quite seeking the touch but not wanting to let the opportunity pass either. Lestrade’s heart ached at the sight of him, he looked so vulnerable and lonely. Stroking his fingertips over a smooth cheek he cupped his chin gently to make Sherlock look him in the eyes.

“Why did you leave, Sherlock?”

“I felt out of place.”

“None of us want to lose you again, sunshine. There is no running away from us anymore, do you hear me? John just needs time to sort his new life out, but you are still a part of it, even if the family is getting a bit bigger now.”

“How did you know?” 

Sherlock’s frown of confusion was always so endearing and Lestrade winked at him mischievously.

“Sherlock Holmes doesn’t miscount.”

Two proud half-smiles in one night, how had he got so lucky? But making Sherlock smile was not the only goal he had tonight, there was still something he needed to do. Looking around the living room he found what he searched for on the desk and went to pick up the iPod from its docking station. He scrolled through the mp3s and most of them seemed to be recordings, but a bit further down the list he found some classical pieces. He couldn’t go wrong with something that had _waltz_ in the title, so he put it on and went back to Sherlock, holding out his hand.

“May I have this dance?”

Sherlock looked up at him almost coyly, put his feet back on the ground and sat up straight.

“Why would you want to dance with me?”

“Because we both missed the best part of the wedding and we are going to make up for that now. Come on!”

Lestrade didn’t want to wait for Sherlock’s approval any longer so he grabbed both of his hands and pulled him up. He let go of one hand to snake his arm around Sherlock’s waist and held onto the other tightly as he started to sway slowly with the music. Sherlock’s tense posture loosened up quickly and soon they waltzed around the room with giddy smiles on their faces. Sherlock even giggled when Greg did a particular move that set him spinning and grinned broadly when he pulled him back into his arms.

They lost track of time entirely but at some point they were both out of breath and slumped down on the sofa while the living room was still filled with music made for much bigger halls.

“Your technique is adequate, we may repeat that in the future.”

“Thanks, I’m taking that as a compliment. And yeah, sure, we can do that again. Haven’t danced like that in ages, to be honest.”

“Neither have I.”

Sherlock’s tone went from happy and breathless to very serious in a heartbeat and he turned towards him. Suddenly arms were wrapped around Lestrade’s shoulders and he found himself in a fierce hug. Even if the angle on the sofa was a bit odd, he hugged back and rubbed his hands soothingly over Sherlock’s back, closing his eyes to enjoy the moment while it lasted. Sherlock didn’t pull away, instead he held onto him even tighter and whispered close to Lestrade’s ear. It was barely audible, hushed as if he was afraid to say it out loud, but it made Lestrade’s heart skip a beat nevertheless.

“Thank you – Greg.”

 

* * *

 

_Last but not least, one of my favourites, but since Greg couldn’t hear it, it’s not part of this story and I made up Gabriel instead of:_

**Gavin:** The late medieval form of the name Gawain, which in turn is believed to have originated from the Welsh name Gwalchgwn, meaning "White Hawk" or "Hawk of the battle".

_And the moral of the story is: Yes, apparently they did put some thought into all the names Sherlock calls him. At least that is what I choose to believe._

**Author's Note:**

> See 'behindthename.com' for the meanings of the names.


End file.
